Poolside
by AHeartFullOfFeels
Summary: John has to save Sherlock. Johnlock fluff


The room is dark, only a faint glow from the pool light cast the slim shadow of a man. He was looking around the room, looking for clues.  
"Slight dust from the bottom of a shoe, a boot, could only have only been put within the last hour," He muttered to himself, "But there was nothing from the tapes… So he hasn't left. So you are still here!"  
"Good job, Mr. Holmes," a voice from behind him said. "I'm impressed. Tracked me down to here, even though I erased the evidence."  
"Exactly. Only an agent in your field would be able to get their hands on said evidence, you were given the case, wait- no, you asked for it, they gave it to you under the impression that you wanted to find his killer, because you were his best friend."  
Sherlock's quick analysis provoked a smirk and a small clap from the man in the suit.

In the hallway, John Watson was sitting on a bench in the dim light. Waiting for his partner to either call him in or come out. He looked around, twiddling his thumbs, unaware of what was happening in the other room.

"Sadly, Detective, I have a reputation to maintain, and being caught as a murderer would certainly put a damper on things, wouldn't it. So I'm afraid I'll have to kill you now, they'll find your body and label it as drowning, perhaps suicide."  
Before Sherlock could say anything, he felt big hands around his throat, crushing it. He wheezed for breath, trying to call out for John, but unable to make more than small whispers of words.  
He felt his head get dizzy as the world began to spin around him, turning darker. He felt cold water splash around him as he closed his eyes.

In the silence of the hallway, John suddenly heard a loud slamming door. He jumped up and ran into the other room, and saw nothing. For a moment, he thought Sherlock had simply found something and left him. Then he felt his blood turn cold when he saw a dark figure sinking in the pool, and Sherlock's long coat floating atop the water. He threw his jacket off and threw his shirt over his head, whilst kicking his shoes off, before diving into the water and swimming down to the bottom to get him. He managed to pull Sherlock a couple of inches back up before needing to resurface and take a breath. He went back down, pulled him up about two feet, and then resurfaced again.

John finally managed to get Sherlock above the water. He trod water rather sloppily, his injured leg starting to scream in protest, while holding the bigger man above the water. After a few moments, he managed to grab hold of the side of the pool. He started trying to push Sherlock onto land while keeping himself above the water. He used all of his strength, pushing Sherlock onto the side, at least mostly. He then hoisted himself out of the pool, and turned to Sherlock.

He went straight to his pulse, putting his ear at Sherlock's mouth while pressing two fingers to his neck. He felt a weak pulse and felt light breath, and he sighed in slight relief. He put both hands on Sherlock's chest and started pumping the water out of Sherlock's lungs. He checked his pulse and breath again, and it was a little stronger.  
John retried pumping his chest a few more times, then tilted Sherlock's head back. He pinched his nose closed, then put his lips on Sherlock's, blowing air into him. After a few minutes with nearly no change, he was at the point of giving up. He blew one more time, then sat back. Sherlock was still lying there motionless, and John fought back tears as he found that he could no longer hear or feel anything from the detective. He picked up Sherlock's torso and cradled it, tears starting to come down his face. Suddenly, the not-so-dead Sherlock began coughing violently. John sat there in shock as Sherlock coughed up water. After a minute, Sherlock laid back in John's arms and opened his eyes. He seemed to recognize the situation almost immediately.  
"You gave up on me, didn't you, John?"  
"You-Your heart stopped beating! What was I supposed to do, capture your soul in a bottle and give it back?" John said sarcastically, though he hugged Sherlock tightly, surprising him.  
"I am flattered though, that you would cry if I was to die."  
Sherlock patted John on the back as the latter comment caused the smaller man to say 'shut up' to him.

"John, you aren't wearing a shirt." Sherlock stated after a police and ambulance had been called, much to his displeasure.  
"How very observant of you," John remarked.  
He handed Sherlock his soaked coat, that he had just retrieved.  
"And don't ever mention that part again," he continued, pulling his shirt back over his head.  
"Why not?"  
"It's not important," John muttered.  
"And are you saying that for the 'I'm not gay' statement or self-consciousness?"  
"I don't know, both," he said, exasperated.  
" I won't even try to convince you of the first option, not now anyways, and as for the second option… well that just doesn't make sense," Sherlock said.  
"Doesn't make sense? Why not?"  
"Well, you are… what could be called, quite _fit_. You have the balance between muscle and fat that makes you one of the most attractive people I've ever seen."  
John stared at the ground, unresponsive, and Sherlock could easily see the redness that spread across his face.  
When he heard sirens a few moments later, he jumped up and ended up slipping a bit on the water, catching his balance at precisely the right time, and went to the door, shouting, "I'll go meet the ambulance or the police or whoever that is."  
His awkwardness at that moment made Sherlock grin, knowing he was right in his guess at sexuality. He chuckled to himself, then grabbed his coat, and followed him out without a second glance.


End file.
